


Escalation, De-escalation

by naboru



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: Blast Off witnesses a scene he wished he hadn’t seen, and Swindle worries Blast Off will tell everyone. Blast Off also worries.Continuity:G1 Dysfunction AU, Season 3, ChaarNote:Set some time after the G1 Episode “Webworld”. Also contains hints toVersus.





	Escalation, De-escalation

**Author's Note:**

> **Continuity:** G1 Dysfunction AU, Season 3, Chaar  
>  **Characters:** Blast Off, Swindle, Motormaster, implied Motormaster/Swindle  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, nothing is mine.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty

Blast Off sighed, sipping his energon slowly as he walked along the dusty corridor.

The windows of the old buildings the Decepticons had settled in were missing. They left open holes that in let every bit of dirt hurled around by Chaar’s frequent strong winds.

That was the reason Blast Off had chosen a room without window. At least it stayed clean, even though he missed looking outside at night.

Now if only the Combaticons were able to get their own energon dispenser installed in their wing of the new base, Blast Off would be marginally less annoyed by it all.

It was still early. He liked to get his ration at the time of the cycle when people were either asleep or still on shift. That was, as long as he didn’t sleep through the short window of opportunity himself…

Entering another corridor, Blast Off took a larger sip and emptied his cube. The energon was still too little to fuel them for a bigger battle, he mused, and threw the cube out of one of the holes in the wall.

The cling of it hitting the stones outside was followed by a door creaking open.

Blast Off didn’t bother to look, disinterested until he realised who it was coming out of the room.

Swindle looked in the other direction first, walking as quietly as possible as he stepped out.

“Morning,” Blast Off greeted his team mate blankly before Swindle had seen him.

The smaller mech turned hastily, startled with optics bright.

“Blast Off!” Swindle tensed, shifting as he glanced guiltily at the door he’d emerged from.

The shuttle did the same.

Motormaster’s room…

Behind his visor, Blast Off raised an optical ridge.

“That’s my name,” he replied, not sure if he wanted to know why the jeep had been in there.

Swindle didn’t leave him any choice and began to babble. “I was here for… for business. You know, deals and stuff. It got late and, uh…” he trailed off, the wheels on his shoulders starting to spin slowly from tension. One arm was pressed weirdly at his side, his hand on his hip, and it appeared rather uncomfortable.

Blast Off wouldn’t have given him a closer look, but with a pose like that it was hard not to. It was also impossible not to see why Swindle was standing like that. His arm only hid half of the dent on his side, and his hand was too small to cover the paint streaks.

Grey and purple. Another, paler purple than Swindle’s own, and Blast Off could put one and one together.

“You already refuelled?” Swindle continued after the moment of silence. “I’m thirsty. We can go together, or… right, you come from the rec-room. Right?”

It almost sounded hopeful, and Blast Off did him the favour of giving him a brief nod.

“Right, good. I mean, haha… I… gotta go!” Swindle passed him quickly, his energy field drawn tight and plating clamped stiff.

Blast Off looked after him, hearing a softly muttered “Frag, frag, frag,” before Swindle walked around the corner and vanished.

Well… Blast Off vented air deeply. That had been a situation he could have lived without.

The door creaked again, and Blast Off turned, this time seeing the rightful owner of the room stepping out.

Just like Swindle, Motormaster froze at the sight of him.

Surprise was written on his face , even Blast Off could see that. Then the truck’s engine revved. “What do you want?” the Stunticon snapped.

Blast Off tensed. He didn’t like that mech. And he didn’t understand Swindle. How could you voluntarily spend time with a mech that ignorant, arrogant and incompetent? 

“Hey, I asked you a question, stop staring,” Motormaster growled.

Blast Off frowned.

It _had been_ voluntarily, hadn’t it?

Swindle was small, no match for Motormaster.

Motormaster started moving, in the same direction Swindle had gone. “You stupid Combaticons are all the same,” Motormaster spat, when Blast Off didn’t react.

But at that those words, Blast Off did.

He moved swiftly, hand closing around Motormaster’s throat. He forced him against the wall.

They’d been in this position before, years ago on the Nemesis, and Motormaster tensed.

Good, Blast Off thought, he remembered.

The cannons on his lower legs hummed, an unspoken threat, and Blast Off was pleased that the other had learned.

Motormaster didn’t take out his gun or sword. His hands were clenched to fists, but he only tensed further under Blast Off’s grip. For now, the shuttle had no reason to immobilise him more.

They stared at each other. Motormaster’s energy field fluctuated, troubled, confused - aggression in it that he tried to control.

“What do you want?” Motormaster demanded again, forcing the words out between thin lips.

Blast Off’s engine revved. What _did_ he want? What Swindle did wasn’t his matter. He didn’t care what the mech did in his time off as long as he didn’t bother him.

If he wanted to interface with a cretin, then that was Swindle’s problem, not Blast Off’s.

That was if Swindle _wanted_.

Blast Off’s grip tightened.

Motormaster sucked in air, and glared. “Heh,” he uttered, his lips forming a smirk. “Jealous that he’d rather spend time with me than with any of you?”

It wasn’t like that. Blast Off didn’t care. But if Motormaster did something to Swindle… He stopped in his thoughts. The gestalt programming didn’t ping or twinge. It was there, the underlying code, the blocked bond, but not acting up.

The gestalt programming had seeped so deeply already, Blast Off couldn’t even sense it as an alien code. And the gestalt code had to be the reason he held Motormaster at gunpoint. His cannons were still aimed and ready to fire.

Blast Off growled.

Motormaster tensed even more, the smirk gone. “What he and I do is none of your business. He can decide who he wants to spend time with.”

“He’s a Combaticon,” Blast Off finally spat “It _is_ my business. You’re not going to give him any reason to regret his decisions.”

“Is that a threat?”

Blast Off’s visor brightened. “It’s an order.” He let his engine rev, and powered his thrusters only slightly, not to move, only to burn the concrete beneath his feet.

A hint of fear entered Motormaster’s energy field, and Blast Off couldn’t help but feel satisfaction.

“Next time there won’t be anyone there to stop me,” Blast Off added.

With a condescending huff, he let go of Motormaster, and left, not caring what the other did. His thoughts were on the change of the gestalt programming.

Blast Off needed to scan it.

\---

Swindle stood in front of the door to Blast Off’s room and shifted on his feet.

He needed to be here. He had to talk to the shuttle as soon as possible to avoid more trouble, but he hated what the shuttle might say.

He’d seen how Blast Off had treated Motormaster.

Swindle had stayed and had glanced around the corner. He hadn’t heard what they’d said, but Blast Off had not been pleased…

Inhaling air deeply, Swindle gathered all his will. If he pinged Blast Off, the shuttle might not open since he’d know it was him, and so he knocked on the door.

It took a moment until there was noise from the other side. The doors weren’t automatic, not the ones for the private quarters; there were no resources for that luxury.

The door opened and revealed Blast Off looking blankly at him.

“Uh, hey,” Swindle grinned his trademark grin. It was forced. “You think I can come in for a moment?”

Blast Off’s gaze dropped to Swindle’s side, and he tensed. Good job he’d taken care of that earlier.

Blast Off gave a huff, and shrugged as he turned. “Close the door behind you,” he said, and went back to the berth. Taking a datapad from a pile on the nightstand, he sat down at the head-end, his legs bent.

Swindle sighed as he closed the door. Blast Off had a way of making people feel unwelcome. The shuttle must be really annoyed, and Swindle dreaded the conversation. He just hoped Blast Off wasn’t going to be as harsh as he had been to Motormaster.

Stepping closer to the berth, Swindle didn’t know how to start. For all his usual charm and patter, this time he was lost. He knew his usual manner would get him nowhere with Blast Off. The shuttle hated too many words. Well, maybe not hate, but he certainly had distaste for them. 

Thankfully though, Blast Off and he were closer now than they’d been years ago.

“So, uh,” Swindle began, and sat down at the edge of the berth, trying to keep out of Blast Off’s large radius of personal space. There wasn’t a chair, or he’d have taken it. But the fact that Blast Off didn’t kick him off right away was a good sign. “About this morning…”

Blast Off looked up from the pad.

“You, uh,” Swindle tried, but the purple visor staring didn’t help him articulate his thoughts.

“I don’t care,” Blast Off said. His voice was as flat and unreadable as always, but he didn’t huff or growl, and the energy field wasn’t drawn in. Not that Swindle was close enough to feel it, but he sensed slight fluctuations in the air that made it clear.

Swindle just stared. He’d been worried all this time, and now Blast Off said that without any hint of lying, and…

“You don’t care?” the jeep asked, confused. Maybe he was a bit disappointed, but mostly relieved.

Blast Off shrugged. “Why should I? It’s not my business who you meet in your time off.”

Swindle have him a suspicious look. Sure, Blast Off wasn’t one to talk with the thing he had going on with Dead End, but it wouldn’t stop him from being a hypocrite. It wasn’t a secret what the shuttle thought of the rest of the Stunticons.

“But…” Swindle shuffled on the berth to be able to look better at Blast Off. “You loathe Motormaster.”

“As long as I don’t have to spend any more time with him than is necessary, I don’t care. Was that it? I want to read.”

“Sure, yes,” Swindle muttered, but then added quickly. “I mean, no.”

Blast Off sighed. “What else?”

“You… won’t tell anyone, right? I mean, like, Onslaught or Tex?”

“I wouldn’t know why this would be relevant to their interests,” Blast Off said, and they both knew it was a lie. Vortex would definitely be interested in knowing something like this. “I won’t tell them.”

Swindle relaxed, the tension easing a little from his joints. He’d been so tense, his joints felt sore.

If only Blast Off would stop looking at him.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” the shuttle said, and the blankness of the voice had made room for a tone Swindle couldn’t read.

Swindle tried not to be annoyed by the comment. He wasn’t stupid, and he hated that his team always thought they had to push him around, and that he was incapable of making decisions. Sure, that one time on Earth he shouldn’t have sold them to the humans, but-

“If Motormaster…” Blast Off began and trailed off, interrupting Swindle’s train of thought. The shuttle still looked at him, and Swindle was confused.

“If Motormaster what?” he asked when Blast Off didn’t continue.

Blast Off shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” It wasn’t spoken condescendingly for once. “Just keep in mind that Motormaster is stronger than you.”

Blast Off’s visor went back to the datapad, and now it was Swindle who stared.

All the hints slotted together, completing the puzzle, and he was bewildered. But also weirdly happy.

“If you want to keep people from finding out,” Blast Off said, still looking at the datapad, “maybe the person owning the room should exit first to see if the coast is clear.” It wasn’t said in a patronising way, rather amused, and maybe a little like Blast Off was relying on his own experiences.

Swindle was taken aback - again.

It was nice to know Blast Off would stand up for him, even come to his aid if asked. A small smile built on Swindle’s lips. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

Blast Off glanced back at him for a moment, and shrugged. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

The shuttle had no idea what Swindle was thanking him for, and maybe it was better that way.

Now with his true trademark grin on his face, Swindle shuffled on the berth to lean against the wall. His feet were close to Blast Off’s, and wow, this berth was comfortable. Why wasn’t his own like that?

Blast Off still didn’t kick him off, and he also didn’t complain, so Swindle got comfortable, and took out two half full cubes of high grade.

“Here,” he offered Blast Off a cube. He had a reason to celebrate, and it wouldn’t hurt to stay on good terms with the shuttle.

Blast Off took the energon with a frown. “I probably don’t want to know where you got that. Or how…”

“It’s not that difficult, even here.” Swindle laughed. “You just need to know the right people.”

“Of course…” The shuttle’s battle mask withdrew, revealing a tiny grin.

They fell silent for a while, and Swindle couldn’t remember when it was the last time he had been and felt this close to the shuttle.

“You know,” he said, “Motormaster isn’t that bad once you get to know him.”

“Uh-hu,” Blast Off mumbled, obviously unimpressed.

“And he knows how to satisfy a grounder, if you know what I mean.” Swindle’s voice was suggestive on purpose and earnt him a grimace.

Blast Off glanced over the rim of the datapad, and he muttered all but grumpily, “Too much information, Swindle, too much information…”

Swindle burst out laughing.

But Blast Off still didn’t force him to leave, and they sat there for a long while in silence.

The shuttle also wasn’t that bad once you got to know him.


End file.
